


Never insult Jaskier’s Witcher

by The_Forgotten_Nobody



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: BAMF Jaskier | Dandelion, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, Feral Jaskier | Dandelion, Insults, M/M, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:20:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23970706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Forgotten_Nobody/pseuds/The_Forgotten_Nobody
Summary: “Take our women too,” a short, stocky man agrees. “You can hide behind human disguises but those eyes of yours, those blades on your back, they show you for what you really are. Good for nothing but destruction.”“Excuse me, gentlemen. Did I just hear you insult this Witcher here?”
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 15
Kudos: 491





	Never insult Jaskier’s Witcher

**Author's Note:**

> Could I come up with a better title? Probably, but considering this fic was born from me noticing just how many of the NPCs insult Geralt when you walk past them in the game, it seemed appropriate.

Geralt is covered in Rotfiend guts and stinks to high heaven, but he doesn’t bother to clean himself before heading into the tavern Jaskier had been scheduled to play in that evening. It’s been a long hunt, a messy one, and all he wants to do is have a tankard of ale (or 5) and watch his bard perform. Maybe he’ll even manage to acquire some extra coin on top of that just given to him by the farmer who’d requested his help in the first place. 

The tavern is brimming with life when Geralt enters and it’s only the sound of music that allows him to easily spy Jaskier amongst the crowd. The bard is in his element, spinning artfully in time to his music and throwing coy looks to the women in the front row in the hopes of opening their purses. His grin widens when his eye catches Geralt’s (or maybe it’s his nose which finds him first) and the Witcher spares him a small smile before he manoeuvres his way through more than a few intoxicated bodies to reach the counter. There’s little space, so Geralt squeezes himself between a group of men, and a couple murmuring to each other in low voices. He ends up focusing on the men, noticing their bloodshot eyes and antsy hands. It’s doubtful they’re hear to listen to Jaskier sing. Likely, they’re there to keep watch over their wives, ensuring they don’t stray due to their inability to keep them happy and satisfied. 

One of the men glances at him, then nudges his friends, pointing at him in an extremely indiscrete manner. Geralt lets out a long, silent exhale. As much as people rarely believe it of him, he really doesn’t enjoy finding trouble. Especially on night’s such as this, where all he wants is to listen to embellished tales of his heroism, drink, and take his bard to bed. 

“What’re you doin’ here, Witcher?” The man who’d first spotted him says, spitting his title like it were a curse. “Your kind ain’t welcome here.” 

“I’ve come back from helping one of your farmers with their Rotfiend problem. I just want to have some ale,” Geralt says neutrally, keeping the corner of his gaze trained on Jaskier. He doesn’t want to ruin another one of the bard’s shows, not with how his crowds have been dying the further north they venture. 

(It also doesn’t hurt that their night’s become even more pleasurable when Jaskier is riding high on the endorphins of a good performance.) 

“Yeah, well, you can find that elsewhere. We don’t want you here.”

“My coin is as good as anyone else’s,” Geralt points out. “Leave me be.” 

Another man snorts. “Don’t pretend you is the same as us. We know what your lot do, don’t we lads?” 

“Fuck monsters, you do!” The tallest, but skinniest, of them yells. The music stops and Geralt’s fists clench by his side. So much for hoping the matter could be settled quietly, then. 

“You fuck your monsters as much as you kill ‘em!” The first man says. “That’s how you lot breed, fucking demons.”

“Take our women too,” a short, stocky man agrees. “You can hide behind human disguises but those eyes of yours, those blades on your back, they show you for what you really are. Good for nothing but destruction.” 

“Excuse me, gentlemen. Did I just hear you insult this Witcher here?” 

Geralt looks to the ceiling in resignation. Fucking hell, now Jaskier was getting himself _involved_ as well. He feels Jaskier’s hand land on his shoulder and immediately shoves it off him, in the hopes the idiot will catch the message and leave Geralt to handle this himself. 

“What’s it to you, bard? Go back and sing your poncy songs. We’ll deal with him.” 

Jaskier’s jacket brushes up against Geralt’s arm as he steps forward to stand by his side, lute still in hand. “See, that’s where you’re wrong. I cannot, in good conscience, ‘go back and sing my poncy songs’ as you so eloquently put it when the words that have just spouted from your rotten mouths are false in every conceivable way. If anyone here needs to be dealt with, it’s you brutes.”

“Jaskier.” Geralt infuses his tone with at much warning as he can. Together, it’s six against two and that’s if the rest of the tavern doesn’t end up turning on them. With how crowded the building is, not only would it be harder to make sure Jaskier was safe, but collateral damage would be almost unavoidable. 

The men glance at each other. “You two know each other then, eh? What thrall has this Witcher put you under?” 

“No thrall, only his charming personality and large cock.” 

“ _Jaskier_.” 

“No Geralt, I will not stay silent while these bastards insult your name and your kind. I will have you lot know this Witcher is one of the most selfless men I have ever met. He’s willing to help all those he comes across, sometimes not even for reward. He does not fuck beasts, nor would he ever take a soul who was not willing. I guarantee you he has more integrity than you have in your little fingers. Now, why don’t _you_ get out of here and allow my partner and I some peace since he has helped _your_ town’s people.”

A beat of silence. Then-

“You fucking worm.”

Geralt’s hand darts out to grab the front man’s arm before it can be pulled back to hit Jaskier, but that leaves him with 5 other men to account for. Another lunges forward but before Geralt can position himself in front of his bard, there is a lute arching around him, landing straight on the man’s head. He drops to the floor like a stack of bricks and even Geralt can’t hide his surprise. 

There’s not even a scratch on the lute. 

“What in the ever-loving _fuck_ , Jaskier?” 

Jaskier grins at him, brandishing his lute as if it were a sword. “Last time we visited Yen I called in that favour she owed me. Asked her if there was a way to make my lute stronger so that I could use it as a weapon if the occasion called for it. A bit of magic hand waving later, and here it is!” 

“You…” Geralt doesn’t have any words. Doesn’t have time for them either, as the man in his grasp attempts a swing with his free fist. He quickly breaks the arm in his grasp, and lands an uppercut that has him on the floor with his friend. 

Secure in the knowledge Jaskier suddenly has a way to defend himself, Geralt focuses on the two heavier bastards. The rest of the room have scattered away from them, to his fortune, and appear to be content watching the brawl instead of interfering. It allows Geralt space to swiftly dodge the sudden appearance of a knife aimed at his stomach, and grabs the heads of the two men, smashing them together so hard they slide downwards. He turns just in time to see the skinny man grab Jaskier by the collar, yanking him backwards, but the bard brings the lute upwards and back so that it smashes right into his nose. Blood spurts out, coating Jaskier’s hair and clothes, but the bard isn’t deterred. He just leaps forward, smacking the remaining, now frightened, man on the side of the head and causing him to slump over the counter. 

Surrounded by 6 unconscious bodies, Jaskier’s hair mussed and face red but eyes alight, Geralt has never wanted the bard more. However, before he can make that known, Jaskier turns to the crowd and says, “Well, everyone, I hope you enjoyed the show! Please consider tossing a coin to your Witcher and remember, should you ever insult him instead then, well…” he gestures to the men on the floor and though the crowd don’t cheer, or even offer much of a smile, a few coins do get pressed into Jaskier’s hand as the barmaid calls for someone to get the brutes off her floor. 

With Jaskier’s set now officially over, there’s nothing to stop Geralt taking him by the arm and leading him outside. He pushes his bard against the wall and presses a hard, bruising kiss against his lips. He runs his hands through bloodstained hair and pushes his body as close to Jaskier’s as he can, wishing to all the Gods above that there were fewer layers of clothes between them. Fuck, seeing Jaskier in there, defending him like that, and defending _himself_...well, he now knows his own equivalent of Jaskier’s performance high. 

“I take it you enjoyed yourself,” Jaskier says breathlessly when Geralt finally releases him. “And while I would love to continue _this_ , you, my dear, positively _reek_.”

Jaskier slides out from Geralt’s hold, leaving the Witcher standing there dumbly until he says, “Come along, Geralt. Time for a bath, don’t you think?” He shakes his coin pouch meaningfully. “Quicker you get cleaned up…,” he leaves the sentence hanging and with a grunt of equal parts frustration and need, Geralt practically carries the laughing bard to the closest inn.

**Author's Note:**

> Please consider leaving a kudos or comment if you liked this!
> 
> Plus, this is the last of my ideas for a Witcher fic so if you have any you want to share, go ahead!


End file.
